River, Author
by EnsignAbby
Summary: Malcolm takes a walk in the middle of the night and runs into someone else who is having trouble sleeping. Do they have the strength to help each other? Please Read and Review! CHAPTER 9, Raindrops and Revelations, is now up! Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

"River, Author"

By Abby

Summary: Malcolm finds someone up in the middle of the night.

Notes: This might be the first chapter in a small series. I haven't written fan fic in QUITE a while, and my muse had been fairly silent until I came across this unique pairing. So here is my triumphant return. Please give me some constructive criticism to let me know how I'm doing. Thanks!

O o o o O

The quiet whir of life vibrated through every panel of Serenity. Although most of its occupants were asleep, still it hummed, a mechanical lullaby. Malcolm put his hands up and pressed them to the wall as he passed them on the way to the cockpit, feeling the pulsations. It was almost like a heartbeat, matching his own. His life had become so intertwined with this ship that it was as if it was an extension of his very body. Call it a connection, call it reading, but if something was amiss on Serenity, Mal felt the physical pain.

Which is why he was surprised, upon mounting the steps, to find a huddled figure on the floor of the cockpit, shaking silently in sobs.

"River?"

He knew she wasn't at all in the capacity to answer, but still he crouched down in front of her. Obscured by long black locks of hair, he couldn't make out her face, but it was obvious that things were not alright in her private world.

He sought to break through, appealing to her through comfort, a nickname he had been accustomed to calling her these last six months.

"River," he repeated, softer this time, "Where are you, my little albatross?"

At that utterance, sound suddenly burst forth from River, and her head tilted back to reveal a tear stained face, contorted in grief to look almost fearsome. Her sobs finally released and audible, they filled the room.

Malcolm attempted to hush her, sliding a hand down her arm, noticing the cold and the shudder. He waited in the dark there, listening, waiting for the sobs to quiet, waiting for a word, a sign. Instruments beeped merrily in the background, a deranged harmony to the desperate melody of cries.

Finally.

"I couldn't stop it…"

Malcolm, jolted out of his deep reflections, now stared at River, who was currently raising her hands to the level of her eyes, watching the fingers twitch of their own accord.

"Stop what, albatross?"

She sniffed a little, still watching her fingers, apparently terrified. "It was flowing…thick, viscous, full of anger, fear, suspiscion… I couldn't stop it! Flowing out my fingers… bleeding…black drops…"

Her babblings almost never made sense to him, they always turned him in the chest, made him unsettled. But that night something compelled him to dive in headfirst, tackle her fears head on.

"I need more than that, River." Malcolm said, gripping her more tightly. "Stay with me. Tell me, what is it that's coming out of you?"

For the first time in that darkness, the gleam where he knew her brown eyes to be shifted and made contact with his own. He could see she was struggling to convey something to him through that connection, something full of depth, sorrow, as if she were pleading with him for something.

Fighting off an urge to answer her eyes' supplication and pull her to him, he saw River point one of her long fingers away from her, Malcolm's eyes following suit. There, under the left console, lay a book. It appeared to be bound in a bright blue fabric, wrapped around once with a silk ribbon. In a room full of age-stained metal, it seemed ethereal, fairy-like. At the moment the ribbon was untied, and, looking further, Malcolm also saw a small pen laying beyond it. They appeared as if thrown there. The source of her anguish.

Curiosity took over and his hand reached out for the book, seeking the reason River was so troubled in the middle of the night. He barely made contact with the soft satin of the cover when two slender hands swiftly snatched it out of his grasp.

"Mei you! Bu yao peng!"

River's fear had worn off and she was now standing over him, book safely tucked into her folded arm.

"My thoughts, captain. Not yours."

She promptly ran off, her bare feet scarcely making a noise as she descended the stairs and retreated to secrecy, leaving behind a thoroughly confused Malcolm Reynolds lost in thought under the surveillance of the stars.


	2. Chapter 2

"River, Author" Chapter 2

By Abby K

Summary: Malcolm finds someone up in the middle of the night.

Notes: Thank you so much for the overwhelming reviews! And just on the first chapter! I hope you enjoy this new chapter. Please give me some constructive criticism to let me know how I'm doing. Thanks!

O o o o O

To say Malcolm had a headache was an understatement. His head was on fire. Searching until the internal clocks had rolled over and the lights slowly blinked on, a substitute for daybreak, he was unable to find River. It seemed that wherever he went, she was just there, the metal warm where he knew she was sitting and writing until she heard his footsteps.

Disgruntled, he headed back through the kitchen on his way to his bunk, hoping that he could get some sleep without anybody wondering where he had got off to. Kaylee was on her way up her ladder, humming a tune that made his head throb.

"Good morning, O Captain my captain!"

Malcolm seized his temples with his forefingers. He hated happiness in the morning. "Ow…and what are you so shiny about?"

The source of her shininess ascended Kaylee's ladder, apparently in a good mood as well. His manner was relaxed, belying the stiff and alert posture he was typically seen in. The two men made eye contact and both stopped in their tracks.

"Simon." acknowledged Malcolm.

"Uh, Captain…" Simon nodded his head, pretending that he didn't just climb out of Kaylee's bunk. He slowly placed his feet on the walkway and stood up straight.

Kaylee looked between them and noticed the awkwardness. "Captain, we were just…"

"Adding nausea to my headache. No need for any details, mei mei." Said Malcolm, trying to erase any thoughts of what Simon and his "little sister" might have been doing.

A long silence followed. Malcolm cleared his throat.

"Well," said Kaylee tentatively, "I'm going to go make some breakfast." She started down the hall, the straps of her overalls unbuckled and flapping on the back of her legs as she walked.

Simon looked as a lamb abandoned. "I ought to go help her," he said, seeing a chance of escape.

He had only gotten a few steps when a knit-browed Malcolm stopped him in his tracks by grabbing his arm. Simon had the uncomforting notion that he was going to get lectured at. "Captain, I'm sorry that…"

Mal interrupted. "What goes on between you two is your own business." It was true, no matter how much it annoyed him to say so. He released his grip, noticing the wrinkles that he put in the young man's fresh, white shirt. "No, I had a question about River."

Simon looked relieved and the tension in his shoulders dissipated. River was a subject he was much more willing to discuss. But seeing as he didn't reply, Malcolm ventured to explain.

"I was making the rounds last night when I found River in the cockpit. She was right upset and not much there. There was a journal nearby, so I figured to take a look at it, but she snapped out of it and disappeared with the thing like some ghost. You wouldn't happen to know what that was all about, do you?"

Simon nodded in the affirmative. "Yes, I do. It's a task that I put her up to."

Malcolm was bewildered. As far as he could tell, River had her crazy moments with or without instruction. He was about to say this when Simon continued.

"I mean the journal. I told her to write in it. It's a proven psychotherapy; it organizes your thoughts and lets you voice your subconscious. I thought it would help her healing process."

Malcolm reflected on last night and remembered that wild look in River's dark eyes. "Organized? Is that what you call it?"

"Explain."

Pressing his fingers together in a sign of contemplation, Simon listened as Malcolm described River's behavior in more detail. At the end, he opened his mouth to respond, closed it, then finally, after a pause, he said his piece. "I didn't expect it to work perfectly from day one. After all she is still in her first week. She has layers of borrowed memories and Alliance programming to still dig through. Who knows how long that may take. In the meantime, though it may hurt to do this, I do believe these…episodes she's been having are going to do her good."

Malcolm processed this. Looking at the floor, he asked, "And so, this journal shares Alliance secrets, River's thoughts, and the like?"

"Not that anything she would be writing at this stage would make any sense, but yes."

Malcolm felt a pang of disappointment. River's thoughts and actions were an enigma to him, a puzzle he wished to figure out. What was going through her mind at any given moment, what secrets and information went flitting around her stripped and bombarded mind? Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. "If she's sorting through her subconscious, doctor, is it possible she might stumble across something that might trigger her?" His head popped up, his look of concern meeting Simon's gaze.

"No. There shouldn't be any worry about that anymore. Excuse me." Simon pardoned himself to join Kaylee with the preparation of breakfast.

Malcolm watched him go, blinked, then set to descend into his own bunk. But he couldn't help but shiver from the look of barely concealed uneasiness that had rippled across Simon's face.


	3. Chapter 3

"River, Author" Chapter 3

By Abby

Comments: Sorry for the long update. A lot of stuff is happening in RL, and I lost a bit of my momentum. Oh, as for some comments that I got for my last chapter: I am aware that I am a bit light on the slang language and written accents. I do that on purpose. I personally can't stand reading fics that attempt a botched version of some accent, and I wanted to make sure people focused on the words of the person instead of how they said it. Feel free to correct me if you want.

Anyways, enjoy!

OOOO

It was another night of wandering. Malcolm had said goodnight to Jayne two hours ago. As much as he enjoyed the company of his shipmates, gathered around the kitchen table, he craved the moments of solitude he gained in the deep night. He sat on the steps to the abandoned shuttle, staring into the obscurity of the cargo bay.

He thought about the words that he shared with Simon earlier. He wasn't quite sure whether or not to take caution what with the look that he saw in the doctor's eyes. River was a member of the crew, and was turning into a sort of friend to Malcolm, albeit a quiet one. She would always sit in the second chair as he took the pilot's seat, watching silently and observing, occasionally correcting his course to save them a few miles. She had not spoken much since they left Miranda. What she was pondering that kept her mouth closed, Malcolm wanted to know.

As if on cue, a flutter caught the corner of his eye. The hem of a dress floated around the corner. The fairy in question. His eyes stayed trained on the spot, expecting her to come back around, appear in his vision. She didn't. He sat disappointed for a second, then, before he was able to realize it, he was following after her, pulled along mindlessly on invisible strings.

They led him to the cockpit, where his personal Daphne was sitting. Her pale skin and white dress glowed compared to the positively unworthy state of her surroundings. A nymph indeed. Her head was bowed, intently focused on the scribblings she was making in her little blue book. As Malcolm watched her, it occurred to him that she knew he was there. She knew how to be invisible. It was by design that he caught her.

Since she didn't show any sign of giving him attention, he wandered to the front steps, perching himself so he could see the stars clearly but still keep her in his peripheral. It was his intention to sit there until something happened, until she indicated that she wanted to initiate conversation. He crossed his arms and pretended as if he was minding his own business, all the while thoughts buzzing across the back of his mind.

It was nice, having company in the middle of the night. True, she wasn't even paying attention to him, but it was comforting to know someone else was there, someone whom he felt shared the connection of being disconnected. That is, disconnected from the harmony of the 'verse, that glimmer of something that was in everybody else's eye but his. He knew that she understood his world-weariness, even though she never said it.

A page in the journal was turned, and the sound woke the captain up from his musings. He turned towards her, watching her slight little hand furiously race across the page, leaving a trail of neatly printed words, so small that he couldn't make them out from where he was. His curiosity urged him to lean forward so he could read, but he knew that to do so would be a dangerous move. If she chose to confide in him, he would have to wait until then.

Yup, just wait.

Wait until…

_Daigua, _to hell with it.

"What are you up to, little one?"

River looked up slowly and turned her expressionless face to meet his. Behind the strands of black hair he could see her scrutinizing him, probably trying to decide whether or not she should answer him truthfully. Her mouth twisted upwards for a few seconds in what he had come to recognize as the antecedent to mischief. She went back to writing. "You have trouble sleeping." She said matter of factly.

_Ai ya_, she was changing the subject on him! He straightened himself up, trying the erase the stupid look he knew was on his face. "Well," he said, trying to think of what to say in response. "So do you."

Her face didn't rotate, but suddenly she had him in her sight, looking at him from the corner of her eye. A smirk appeared on her lips. Her tone was sad, but there was a tinge of sarcasm in it. "I've got 'demons,' captain." She looked back at the page she just finished, lightly tracing the letters with her fingers. "What about you?"

"You could say that…" Malcolm replied, leaning his head back against the railing and gazing back out at the stars. "Just so happens that my mind comes alive at night, all a whirr of things that don't cross my mind when I'm thinkin' about the next job." An uninhabited moon twinkled green to his left, and he twisted himself away further to observe its radiance. "I think 'bout the war, 'bout my place in things, 'bout faith and things Shepherd used to say…" He paused, lost in a small moment of grief.

"Wonderins', that's all."

All was quiet behind him. It suddenly occurred to him that she had easily turned the conversation on himself, and now instead of River exposing her soul, he was now exposing his. He waited for a response, a word, or even the sound of the pen on paper once again. But nothing. He looked at the pilot's chair, not entirely surprised that she had slipped out of the room without him hearing.

How like her to leave him alone, again with unanswered questions. He had a vague feeling that she was setting the trap for him once more, her errant Apollo. She knew he would attempt to follow, only this time she wouldn't let him find her.


	4. Chapter 4

"River, Author" Chapter 4

By Abby

Rating: PG

Notes: I'm so sorry, you guys! I hate it when other people take forever to update and here I am, the hypocrite! I had a bunch of RL stuff to do and in the midst of that, I also discovered Pirates Online guilty grin Anyways, I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

O o o O o O o O o o O

The floor was sideways. At least, that's what it appeared like to him. If he hadn't known for a fact that he had too much to drink, he would of sworn someone had turned off the artificial gravity. He grabbed the side railing and stood still for a moment to allow for things to stop moving on him, then descended the ramp down to the cargo bay.

It wasn't everyday Malcolm was like this, a brooding, drunken, mess of a man. It was only on the days when the 'verse closed in on him and reminded him of the nothingness that he was.

He was acutely reminded of this uncomforting fact that morning; a message was sent to him from one of the border worlds to regrettably inform him that two former browncoats, friends of his, had just been killed. Lieutenants Wilder and Chen. An accident involving an attempted heist and over-eager Alliance officers. It seemed anymore that someone he knew was off dying. Survived the war but unable to survive life after. If the circumstances had been different, it could have been his crew that attempted that heist and ended up dead. Damn it all.

He hadn't meant life to end up this way. There was a time when he was looking forward to settling down on Shadow with a wife and cattle to raise or somesuch. There was a time when he had a sense of right and wrong, justice and mercy. Those senses were still there, struggling the break the surface of his conscience, but they were conquered everyday as he fought to keep alive those who meant the most to him. His sense of survival out-weighed them all.

He had pulled out his stash of Ng Ka Py from underneath his bunk, something he always kept around in case he had a sudden urgency to become drunk. Everyone had gone to sleep, the lights blinked off, and that sense of urgency had called to him. Now he sat on the floor, leaned up against his favorite smuggling hold, wishing to hell that everything would stop moving.

Something graceful quietly floated into his presence, disorienting and in conflict with his perceived turbulence. He could almost feel it with the core of his being, and its constancy gave way to irritation. He slowly turned his head to see the source of this pressing, and found a pair of dark eyes piercing him. River had descended upon the scene and was now seated on the steps above him, scrutinizing, contemplating. Her journal was by her side, apparently forgotten when she stumbled upon something far more fascinating.

He dropped his gaze and looked at her bare little feet. "What're you doin' here?"

She blinked, perhaps for the first time in several minutes, and sat back. "You're drunk." She said, her tone telling something of distaste.

Two shakes of his brandy bottle suggested it was empty. "S'pose I am." He replied.

"Impaired faculties," she observed, looking down the length of him, ideas and concepts zooming through the back of her mind, obvious in her faraway look. "Drunk with the wine of God's wrath."

He squinted, containing neither the faculties nor the patience to try to understand what she meant. "What?"

She played with her fingers, hesitated. "The effect of such walking in the imagination of one's own heart would be to destroy one and all." Her tone implied that to her own head, nothing needed to be explained further.

And then there was silence. Malcolm went back to staring at the floor, trying to lose himself in his stupor and forget what was just said. River continued to train her eyes on him intently. It had occurred to him that she was attempting to glean his thoughts, figure him out, and normally this would have disturbed him, but at that moment he was too morose and inebriated to care.

Out of the corner of his eye the bleary, glowing shape that was River started to slowly descend. Her feet connected with the cargo bay floor, soundless, ghostlike, and made the few steps to where he was seated. Before he could blink she was seated beside him. Then, almost hesitantly, she laid her head on his shoulder, raven hair cascading down the side of his arm. At first his initial reaction was to tense up, but when the comforting feeling of her body heat seeped through his jacket, he relaxed, taking some pleasure in suddenly having company in misery. "You're warm," he said.

She glanced at him. "Where you are, it's cold."

Something inside him tugged a bit, appreciation that someone understood. He was dead certain that River did, out of anyone that had ever suffered. It seemed rather ironic that she would actually reach out and make sense of him, when she was the one who needed more help than any of them could truly offer. Speaking of…

_"Tzao-gao, alb'tross…" _he exclaimed, a little louder than he intended. She jolted from the sound of it echoing through the metal walls. "Here you're trying to console me 'n get in m'head when all this time I've been fixin' to get into yours." He hiccupped and swung his free hand up to point at the offending blue journal still lying on the grate of the stairs. "That gorram thing has been drivin' me up the wall, 'n you're bein' an awful tease." He grunted as he made to push himself up off the wall. "I'm gonna look at that journal, don' you stop me…" He wobbled as he hovered a couple inches off the ground. Looking over to gauge her reaction, River showed no sign of alarm, only calm. Not deterred, he kept pushing himself up, the effort starting to make him pant. "Jus'n you wait…I'll read all your craz…" Legs not wanting to cooperate, he gave up and slid back down the wall.

He sat for a few seconds and caught his breath, noticing that she hadn't moved the entire time nor seemed surprised that he was once again on the floor. "You knew that was gonna happen." He accused.

She looked up at her bound thoughts sitting on the step. "Poor balance and compromised physical capability." She turned back to him, and smiled lightly. "My journal was safe."

He couldn't help but return her smile with a lopsided version of his own. He wrapped his arm around her pulled her to his side. "You cheeky little _piao liang pìgu_."

They sat without saying another word. An hour passed, and when Malcolm was able to get on his feet again, River stood up as well. She smiled once again, watched to make sure he wasn't going to fall over, then quickly snatched up the journal and ascended the stairs, skirt floating behind her.

The feelings of angst that had spurred his binge seemed far away to Malcolm as he watched her disappear around a corner. According to his calculations, there was a slim chance that he would ever get a chance to see what it was that was in her head and on those pages of her book anytime soon. In the meantime, he felt lucky enough to be invited into her peculiar world. He sighed and climbed the stairs, seeking a soft bed and deep sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

"River, Author" Chapter 5

By Abby ()

Rating: PG

Notes: This chapter was a bit of a challenge for me. I typically only write conversations between two people. Having a crew-wide discussion is not something I'm used to. So I had to sit and ponder it and read into some characters. My muse finally started speaking to me, in of all places, the shower. I had to get out and go to the computer before the idea ran out of my head. I hope you enjoy this.

**Please Review** and let me know what you think.

O o o O o O o O o o O

"Would'n you like some eggs, Cap'n?" The voice floated over the cheerful din.

Malcolm slowly lifted his head from his cup of coffee, careful not to move too quickly. The sunny face of Kaylee was waiting intently for his reply, augmented by the fitting halo of light that radiated from the overhead behind her.

He glanced at the proffered eggs that were in the skillet she held out. It was only in a time of abundance that they bought real eggs, and it was apparent that Kaylee had worked extra hard, folding in rosemary and pepper from the box of dwindling herbs and spices that Shepherd Book had once offered as part of his fare.

It looked wonderful, but he knew that if Kaylee didn't get its smell out from under his nose, he was looking to be violently ill on the dining table.

Zoe must have given Kaylee an all-knowing look, because the engineer gave a squeak and removed the skillet as fast and far as she could from the hung-over captain.

Kaylee's shoulder was patted in reassurance as Zoe walked around behind her on the way to the countertop. She pulled down a large glass from the cabinet. "I reckon you need some of my special pickup, sir?"

Mal grimaced. "By pickup, you mean the liquid concoction that burns the hairs out of my nostrils and leaves me with no feeling in my mouth for several hours?"

"The very same, sir."

"If I said no, are you going to give it to me anyway?"

"Yes."

"If you must." He lifted a hand up to rub his protesting neck. It occurred to him that he might have fallen asleep in a less than desirable position.

The sounds of evils unknown began pouring into the mug, and he looked away to find something that would take his mind off the unpleasantness that was to come. The rest of the group was already enthralled in the retelling of one of Jayne's greatest heists, according to Jayne, which involved his vasty intellect, a highly guarded Alliance installment, and Vera.

"…and t'alliance _pìgu_ was so scared that shat himself at the sight o' Vera's pretty barrel, here." He patted the gun, which for some reason he had brought to breakfast with him. "Reckon I made out with enough merch' to buy my own ship."

Simon was incredulous.

Oblivious to the fact that Jayne was obviously embellishing his tall tale, Kaylee leaned in eagerly, interest in her eyes. "What did you do with all that shiny?"

"Uh…" He turned red in the face, a sign that either the money he earned was not as much as he claimed or that he spent it on something less than noble. "I ended up investin' a lot of it in…uh…" He took a sip of his coffee. "Shouldn't we be discussin' the details of today's job or summat?"

Taking the cue, Zoe answered in the affirmative. "Wouldn't be a bad idea to go over the details once again." She walked over and handed the prepared glass to the captain. "You agree, sir?"

Malcolm looked down at the cup of dubious content, sickly green in its color. He scowled and took a slug. A fire started burning in his skull.

"You listening?" prompted Zoe.

Somehow the throbbing in his head was increasing. "Ai ya! Did you put wasabi in this?" Malcolm croaked as he reached up in an attempt to wipe the tears welling up in his eyes.

Apparently his pain was the source of great amusement. Sniggers were coming from across the table.

A quiet voice, unnoticeable at first, started rising in intensity. River's. Its frantic and distressed pace caught everyone's attention. Until then, Malcolm had not even noticed her presence in the room, not with the splitting headache that he cradled. But now he saw her clearly, sitting behind Simon, and obviously distressed.

She was rocking herself, hands wrapped around her arms, nails scratching harshly against in her skin in a vain attempt to distract her mind from the downward spiral. "We know what we are, but know not what we may be…" Sobs started erupting from her mouth, loud and ugly. "I cannot keep them! They climb in and out, in and out, always coming, burrowing, no permission…"

Malcolm watched as she suddenly stood up out of her chair, knocking it over, the crash reverberating through his head, slowly building into hot pain. He tried to get up. The motion of it made him nauseated. Through his limited vision he saw Simon reaching out to his sister, murmuring words of comfort that were going unheard.

The whole sight of it angered him. Months of slowly accumulated control and mending were crumbling in front of his eyes, leaving before him shades of the frightened girl who once he abruptly broke out of icy slumber. The terror in her countenance was the very same as it appeared now.

It was that look that made contact with his. The intensity seemed to temporarily release River from the hold of her madness. She faltered under the concentrated gaze. Malcolm detected a hint of shame flit across her face before she quickly turned away, looking down.

Either it was his righteous anger pouring through him or the remedy that Zoe made, but suddenly he was clear. There was no way he was going to let her lose what she rightly worked so hard to regain. Grimly, he made his way down the table.

She backed away at his approach, covering her face in anxiety. "Dry up my brain…burn out the senses…" she muttered. Malcolm grabbed her by the shoulders, a bit too tightly than he meant. She let out a cry of surprise.

"Wake up, albatross." His voice was deceptively calm. She trembled at the sound of his name for her, tried to break free. He held fast. "Ain't no demons that you can't fight," he assured her.

She cowered under unseen forces, wriggled in his grasp. "Thought and affliction…hell itself!"

"River." His composure was starting to wear off, danger skirting his tone. She whimpered, struggled, losing the war raging in her mind. Her enemy was intangible, and it was winning. The fury of it pushed Mal off the edge. "_Tyen-sah duh uh-muo_!" He gave her a hard shake, her eyes widening in fear. Realizing what he had done, he let go of her immediately. He opened his mouth, trying with difficulty to keep his voice from breaking with emotion. "Gorram it, River!"

She stood before him, panting yet now tranquil. The fear was not gone from her face. Malcolm drowned in the guilt that her stare created from inside him. He reached out to her, hoping to apologize, explain himself, promise that he would never be angry again. But she turned and ran, leaving his gesture floating in the expanse.

He straightened himself up, cleared his throat. Upon turning around he discovered the rest of the crew, silent in their shock. The breakfast was lying cold on their plates, forgotten in the wave of what transpired.

Jayne was the first to speak. "_Fong luh_ is what you are."

Deciding that excusing himself was the best cure to the awkward situation, Malcolm crossed his arms. "Everybody get ready to land on New Melbourne. Kaylee, prep the mule. I wanna see everythin' ready to go in fifteen minutes." He spun around and strode out of the kitchen, on the way to the cockpit in hopes of finding his pilot there.

He didn't find her.

She had disappeared along with all her voices, leaving him to sort out what went wrong.


	6. Chapter 6

"River, Author" Chapter 6

By Abby ()

Rating: PG

Notes: Aah! Chapter 6! I actually took the time to sit down with a journal notebook in order to try to write the entire thing on paper. Pure torture, but I enjoyed the change of pace. Anyway, I tried to expand myself a bit with this chapter. Let me know what you think, honestly.

Reviews keep me going!

O o o O o o O o o O o o O

The mule slid into the cargo bay and out of the downpour, creating a puddle where Zoe parked it. Captain Reynolds heaved himself over the edge of it, groaning at the soreness of his muscles as his feet made contact with the grate. His equally drenched fellow crewmembers followed suit.

"All that plannin' for nothin'" griped Jayne, sitting on a spare crate to loosen his boot laces. "Not that the nice soak in the gorram waterfall out there wasn't thrillin'" He held his boot upside down, muddy water trickling out.

Mal was too tired to agree. Their supposed honest contact was a no show, along with the cargo that would have meant another few weeks of flying with a full tank. After a couple of hours of waiting on the docks of New Melbourne, he had them turn around back to the ship.

Kaylee bounded down the stairs, more covered in grease than normal after spending the better part of the day cleaning the grav boots. An exhausted looking Simon followed after her, having been enlisted to help. Kaylee's bright smile faltered at the sight of the empty mule, but was quickly put back in place by her optimism. "Has there been a change of pick-up point, Cap'n?"

Choosing not to answer, Mal looked around the room, hoping to see the particular crewmember he most wanted to speak to. She wasn't there.

"Sir," Zoe interrupted, bringing the captain's attention back to the task at hand. "Perhaps we should stay grounded for a while longer, just in case Mr. Cadmon got held up."

"Mmm," was the reply. Mal stepped over and hit the button to close the doors, the sound of the rain slowly quieted until it was ceased by the seal. He stood staring at it for a couple seconds before he turned around to find the crew silent, waiting for him to say something. He opened his mouth. "Where's River?"

The ship suddenly lurched in response, taking everyone off balance as they made their ascent off-world. The engine roared as they pushed through atmo.

"Xiao tu zaizi!" Shouted Mal. "What the hell is that girl doin'?"

"Baoqian, Captain." Said Kaylee, attempting to calm him by patting his arm. "Me and Simon tried to talk to her today, but she's shut herself up in the cockpit."

Simon appeared behind her. "She's still a bit shaken by this morning's…episode." He said, face showing mixed emotion.

"I got that, but it leaves no excuse to be takin' off with my ship." Mal replied, walking over to press the intercom. "River, we ain't set to leave for a couple hours, and I gave you no order to be flyin' us nowhere. Turn us around and set us down."

No response.

"River."

Zoe stepped forward. "Captain, perhaps it's best to leave her be. I doubt our contact would have showed up, anyway."

He paused at the intercom, trying his hardest to calm his breathing and his thoughts. "No," he shifted to make eye contact with all of them. "I reckon I need to talk with her, make it right." He averted his gaze from the suspicious one that Simon had concentrated on him. "Until then, I don't suppose she'll be compliant in any form."

"What makes you think she'll talk to you?" Simon asked in a steady tone.

Brushing past him, Mal made his way to the stairs. "I have a feeling." With that, he left them all behind as he made his way to the bridge.

The bridge door was shut. Without hesitating he knocked, waiting for the sound of her bare feet. He was suddenly aware of the fact that his clothes were still wet and becoming uncomfortably cold against his body. It occurred to him that perhaps it would be a good idea to change into dry clothes first, but before he could turn around, the door clicked and slid open.

River considered him coolly, then made her way back to the pilot's chair, leaving Mal to let himself in. Waiting a couple seconds to make sure it was safe, Malcolm stepped over the threshold. Her back was to him, focused intently on something she had in her hands.

Not sure how to break the silence, he cleared his throat. "Um,"

"Close the door." She interrupted.

He did as he was told.

Upon coming closer, Mal could see what lay before her. The journal lay on the console, its pages looking well-thumbed, memories having been revisited countless times. As siren-like as those memories called out to him to be read, his self-control was as such that he tore his eyes away from it with relative ease.

River was currently enthralled with what she held in her hands, the pen whose ink swam on the journal's pages. She twirled it, feeding it between her fingers, focused on it yet lost in some faraway thought.

Malcolm, deciding not to disturb her, took a seat in the co-pilot's chair, waiting for words, anything to cut through the heavy atmosphere. He listened as water droplets formed and fell off him, echoing as they hit the metal floor.

It was a few moments before the silence was broken, but when River broke it, it was only to confirm the feeling in Mal's gut that something was amiss.

"I killed a man with one of these, once." The pen twirled, her smile twisted.

The look on River's face made his stomach drop. He had seen River kill others before, but somehow, in this moment, with the look of satisfaction on her young face, the realization of what she was capable of was disturbing. Instead of responding, he stayed still, waiting to see what she would do.

"My mission was accomplished… I was fast…I was good. No mistakes." Her face fell. "But they told me I wasn't ready…I had more to do. They were going to put me away…more training…all darkness, nightmares and mattresses…" Tears started sliding down her cheek, and the pen slid unnoticed and landed on the floor with a clatter.

Malcolm watched as her shaky grip on the present betrayed her. His stomach turned as it did that morning, but instead of the anger that had fueled him earlier, it was a deep sadness that moved him out of his chair.

She looked frail in the cold shadow of space, and approaching her slowly, he could see her eyes squeezed tight, such pain on her face that he feared she would break from the failure to bear it. The frame of her body sunk in on itself, a vain attempt to protect itself from the onslaught of horrors.

"River…" he said quietly, getting down on his knees to meet her eyes. She refused to look at him. Her lips moved silently. Talking to specters or to no one, Mal didn't know, but he was determined to be the voice that broke through the others.

"River, I can't pretend to even know half of what went through…but I do know that all the voices of the past can stop you from livin' the here and now, if you let them. It's up to you to let them go…"

A whimper escaped her, and she shook her head violently, eyes still not opening.

Mal leaned in closer. "You can break free of this, Li'l Albatross. I know you can. They got no hold on you. Not anymore." He watched her to see if she was hearing him, if any of what he said was taking hold. Her breathing has slowed, but the tears continued to fall from under her eyelids as she cried soundlessly.

Unable to restrain himself, he reached out to her, longing to provide some comfort, to hold her to him. His fingertips made contact with the smoothness of her shoulder…

Before he was able to comprehend what was happening, two hands gripped his arm and promptly swung him about, sending him plunging to the floor on his back, hitting his head. His vision blurred and he struggled to focus as he felt a firm foot place itself on his chest. Everything cleared and became still, and Malcolm saw River, poised and ready to strike, pen aimed precariously over his neck.

Her face was wild, and he could instantly recognize the signs of programming resurfacing, struggling to recapture her. He dared not move for fear that she was unable to stop what was happening and would carry through with the demands of the weapon that was screaming inside her.

He hoped to God that River was reachable, able to listen through the fog. He took a shallow breath in, attempting to speak while moving as little as possible. "River," he said slowly. "I was out of line this morning. I admit that. I only did it because I got so frustrated seein' you, well, like this." He waited, looking for response. "Still, got no decent excuse. If you're there, just wantin' to say I'm sorry. I'm a mean old man."

A moment passed by with River's arm still in suspension over his exposed form, and he wondered if he was going to be able to get out of the situation unscathed. Suddenly her chest heaved, as if some inner power was bringing her under control. Her body trembled as she lowered her arm, face crestfallen, traces of salt on her jaw joined by fresh tears.

Mal took no chances, pushing himself away and putting some distance between them. She copied his movements, backing up against a console. Her orbs pierced his, and he felt as if she was willing him to see, almost as if she was trying to touch his mind with hers. He could see her desperation, and it filled him with desire to be able to make that connection. But it didn't come, and no words were exchanged.

Cautiously, he stood up, damp coat draping stiffly over his outline. He wanted to say something, but felt as if all his words were used up, useless. He let out a deep breath he didn't realize he was holding, hearing River let out a quiet echo of her own.

Slowly he turned, figuring it best to leave while he still had his health. He had things he needed to sort in his head, and he was sure she needed space to do the same. Drained, he crossed the threshhold.

He took a few steps before he heard her voice. It was hushed, shaken, but full of resolution. It filled him up, caressing him like a soft wind.

"No, you're not."


	7. Chapter 7

River, Author

Chapter 7

By Abby

Rating: PG

Notes: I _know _it's been a long time coming, but here it is: chapter 7. You might want to go back and reread at least Chapter 6 before heading into this one. This was originally meant to be a long super-chapter, but I thought for Christmas you deserved half of it, at least. My gift to you. I hope you like it. Please R + R!

O o x o O o x o O

Mal woke up bleary-eyed, the wall on the opposite side of his quarters coming into focus. He stared at it for an indefinable amount of time, his body too warm and his head too empty for sufficient motivation to push himself out of bed.

He heard muffled laughter above his head, a sign that Kaylee was up and heading towards breakfast. Several pairs of footsteps followed: the rest of the crew.

He rolled over and adjusted his view to the ceiling, not truly seeing it but focusing on the memory of her eyes and their plea for help. A plea for _his _help. Something had suddenly shifted gears without his realizing it, and the revelation made him speechless, stricken dumb.

Perhaps her statement last night wasn't all that untrue.

He had always been convinced his sense of right and sense of survival were irrevocably separated, that his faith was abandoned, no longer on the path available to him. Broken. He had lived broken for so many years, the war reminding him everyday that he was a defeated man.

Then River had come along, shattered into so many pieces that her reflection was no longer visible through the innumerable fractures. The Alliance's handiwork. They took away her livelihood, her childhood, her family, her sanity, even her ability to hide away her true self in her own mind. They had taken everything, left an empty shell, and slowly filled it with lies, horrors, unspeakables…

Yet here she was, on Serenity, attempting to put the shards back together. Grasping for life, hope, for her true self. She was _fighting_.

So why wasn't _he _fighting? Mal couldn't deny that he had seen more than he could bear, but in view of the absolute dark abyss River was emerging from, he could no longer look at himself in the mirror and claim that he was beyond help, beyond reach. And River was reaching for him.

He had no idea what to do.

So he stayed put, isolating himself from the crew, anxious to keep to himself the events of last night, anxious to avoid her gaze, answer her unspoken question.

It took a couple of hours, moping in this fashion, before hunger got the best of him. He reached under his bed for the tin he usually kept stocked with a private reserve of protein bars. His hands made contact with the coolness of the bottom. Nothing. He considered hunkering down and dealing with the twisting in his stomach. Heck, he had gone without for longer than this back during the war.

But that was a good while ago, he had to admit. And since then his body had grown accustomed to getting what it wanted on a fairly regular schedule. And right now the idea of a hot cup of coffee was causing his internal clock to scream at him.

He ascended his ladder and slowly poked his head out, assessing the situation. He didn't see anyone in sight, but he could smell the leftover scents of breakfast still lingering in the corridor. Bacon. Someone had spent a little extra money and got bacon. The memory of its taste made his salivary glands water in anticipation. It reminded him of Shadow and breakfast with his mother, back when they raised their own food and salted bacon was on the menu every Sunday morning. It was a weak spot of his. A couple seconds later he was up and out of the hatch, deciding he was willing to risk social interaction in order to see if any stray strips were left to salvage.

The light of the kitchen hurt his eyes at first, after so many hours of the dim of his bunk, but he quickly made the observation that the kitchen was devoid of both food and people. That is until he eyed the nearly hidden figure of Simon seated in the cove, and, apparently, waiting for him.

"Captain" Simon acknowledged, not turning his head to make eye contact. "I had a feeling you would come up."

Mal sniffed the air. "Where's the bacon?" he asked dejectedly, wondering if he was being set up.

"Kaylee knew your affinity for it. She said it was a sure thing to get you out of bed. 'Like a charm,' to quote her."

Now Mal was _definitely _feeling set up. "Where's the bacon?" The tone was more whiney than authoritative. He had half a mind to turn around.

Simon twisted around and considered him coolly, the epitome of calm and composure. "Captain, would you mind sitting down with me a moment? There is something I would like to discuss with you.

Nothing in his look gave anything away, but Mal was already certain what Simon was after. A sigh and a few slow steps later, Mal was seated in the seat opposite, waiting quietly and patiently for the doctor to speak.

"Now, captain. I didn't call you here to tell you what you ought to think, or voice my current distaste. I called you here, rather…" Simon hesitated a bit, and Mal could almost sense the hint of a blush creep up on the doctor's normally pale complexion. "I called you here on the behalf of my sister. I don't know if she has the strength to say these things herself."

Mal sat back off his knees, knowing exactly what the doctor was referring to. At least he thought he did. He decided to feign ignorance and shot Simon a blank look.

Simon must have been hoping that Mal would know what he was talking about, because he shifted in his chair, looking fairly uncomfortable. A silence followed as he formulated what he was going to say next. "It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs," he began slowly, quietly, folding his hands and staring down at his feet, "tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly." He looked up briefly, waiting for a reaction from Mal.

There was a space of a blink before a small smirk rose on the captain's lips. Without hesitation, he responded. "S'awful nice sentiment, doc, but I do have to warn you that I don't lean that way."

A brief moment of confusion on Simon's part was quickly replaced by irritation. "Funny, captain, but that was actually a quote from 'Jane Eyre'."

"Never read it."

"It just reminded me of…" A quiet clearing of the throat. "Well, I don't know if you have noticed it, but River seems to put a lot of stock into how you think of her. I believe I don't need to remind you of what happened yesterday." His eyes darted over to the kitchen table, as if the events were replaying in front of him.

"No, you don't." Mal fidgeted, attempting to smooth down an errant section of hair and failing. "I didn't mean to scare your sister the way I did, or to cause all the ruckus that happened thereafter. But it's my fault, nonetheless."

"Captain…"

"I think I'm startin' to understand what you had to deal with, y'know? You know what she was like afore the Alliance got a hold of her. Now you have to face those breakdowns she has with the memory of what she was. I caught a glimpse of that real River recently. I just couldn't handle it as well as you could when I saw that slip away 'gain yesterday."

Neither of them were expecting the degree of transparency of Malcolm's words. Slightly embarrassed, Malcolm got up and busied himself with preparing a pot of coffee. For a while the only sound was the opening of tins and the sound of the kettle boiling. When Malcolm returned, he was holding two cups of coffee, handing one to Simon. Taking a sip (and pausing to revel in the first taste of anything since yesterday's breakfast), he reseated himself, looking more prepared for the rest of the conversation. "So what was the whole 'Jane Eyre' quote about?"

Feeling encouraged by the captain's initiative, Simon cradled the warm cup in his hands. "I couldn't think of any other way to describe what I was seeing, I suppose. Rochester's way of putting things might be a bit more melodramatic than my personal observations, but there is truth in the saying." Steam curled and rose to the center of the circular alcove. "There is a unique friendship between you two that I've noticed developing in the last few weeks. I can't say that I was particularly pleased, at the start, but River seems to have attached a certain amount of trust in you." His brow furrowed, an expression that didn't go unnoticed by the captain. "I'm afraid that if you try to remove yourself from whatever this is now, she might regress. "

It was a statement that filled Mal with fear. Fear of the possibility of seeing her descend once more, to stare into the eyes of the machine once more. He feared that he would fail her, fail her just like he had failed everyone else who had ever been close to him. And now he was afraid that he had gotten closer to her than he meant to. He closed his eyes, hating how vulnerable he felt under Simon's gaze. "I know that she wants help. I just don't know if I can give it to her."

He didn't see him, but he knew that Simon was hesitating, trying to decide whether or not to divulge certain information. Finally, he heard his voice, sedate and muted. "She writes about you." A pause. "It's an invasion of privacy, I know, but I had to check her journal for any improvement. Believe me it was hard to do. I had to wait till she was asleep." He coughed. "It appears her thoughts have begun to sharpen, and you're her object of focus. Let me assure you, she knows more about you than perhaps you can comprehend. If she thinks you can help her, then I don't doubt that."

Mal tried to take it all in, what Simon was saying. The fact that somehow she had gotten into his head, figured him out, made him nervous, made him feel exposed. She trusted him, but he didn't know why. He didn't even trust himself. But if she wanted his help, he would answer. He would attempt to answer that question that was in her eyes.

Something then occurred to him. "Why, of all people, are _you_ askin' me to do this, Simon? Thought you 'n I didn't see eye to eye."

"River is my sister, Mal. I love her. If you're the person that can save her, why would I deny her?"


	8. Chapter 8

River, Author

Chapter 8

By Abby

Note: This has been a long time in coming. I sincerely apologise. I lost my muse for a really long time, but I had just enough left to complete this chapter in time for Christmas. So please, enjoy :)

* * * * * * *

His arms stretched out, palms flattened on both opposing walls of the hall. Eyes closed, he tried to tune into the hums, vibrations, the creaks and groans of the ship. Concentrating, he reached out with his mind, seeking any sign of a thought, a feeling, emanating from the cabins...

Aw, hell.

Malcolm dropped his hands at his sides, feeling foolish. He leaned against the bulkhead, the cool of the metal soaking into his skin. He desperately wished he could understand that part of her world, wished just once he could see through her eyes. It seemed an impossibility.

He didn't know what it was he needed to say to River, but it filled him with fear. Fear...and yet, elation also. Everything that had happened seemed to build up into this moment, and the hope that he felt took him completely off guard. When was the last time he had felt it? What power did this young woman have over him, to make him want to care, to make the world right just for her?

He pushed himself up, his weight carried solidly on his own two feet. No more waiting. He knew where she would be. And so, with a shaky hand passed over his eyes and a quiet prayer mumbled, the first in so many dark years, he walked forward.

The closer he came to the cockpit door, the lighter he felt, as if layers of death were being shaken loose and shed with each step, and as he laid his hand upon the door handle, he came to the realization that with this arrival and what followed, his passage to life would be complete.

Reborn.

The door slid easily on its hinges, and a breath of air flew past him, equalizing the atmosphere. At first, all he could see was the dark, but as his eyes adjusted, the orange glow of the control panel became apparent, and _oh_, the stars. He couldn't remember the last time they seemed so bright. Perhaps he was simply not seeing them right before.

"_Wān ān, _River?" he asked quietly, almost afraid to disturb the silence.

A movement caught his eye and he saw her rise from where she was seated on the stairs. He took a step inside, the clunk of his heavy boots echoing. He had an urge to remove them, suddenly having the notion that only his bare feet would suffice for this sacred ground. Ludicrous...

"The burning bush in the desert." River said in response to his thought, her own pink feet walking with ease on the hard, unyielding grate.

Mal laughed, realizing how easily she had heard him think. How much had she heard throughout their time together that she simply kept to herself? He tried to push it out of mind as he pulled his laces loose and shirked off each boot before closing the door behind him.

Finally, he stood up and found her nearby, contemplating him. His toes were starting to get cold. "How the hell do manage to stay warm?" He wondered aloud.

She didn't answer immediately, but simply wiggled her own toes. "Thermal homeostasis." She smiled at him wryly. "And on occasion, socks."

He couldn't help but grin at her, appreciating her humor in the gravity of things. But things soon fell serious, Mal once again aware of why he was nervous to come here in the first place. "I really don't know why I'm here, River. Truly, I don't. It's every kind of backward to my nature."

Her answer was simple. "Yet here you are."

"Here I am." He agreed.

Her gaze swept over him, assessing him. "Not contrary to your nature, though. You hold to ideals, lofty ones. Prone to extravagantly chivalrous action. " They made eye contact, and it unnerved him somehow. "You're quixotic." She offered a small smile.

He started to step forward, stopping short. His resolve wavered. "Now I can't understand how you could possibly see that, albatross. You make me out to be better than I am." _And I can't ever hope to measure up to that standard_, he added silently. "I've failed many a person." He swallowed, remembering. "Far too many." Why had he come here?

Her eyes were piercing him, searching for what, he couldn't tell, but after what seemed like eternity, she shook her head wildly, turning away from him and retreated to the other side of the room, trying poorly to maintain composure.

He watched her start to fade, feeling an absolute coward. Her delicate frame was curled, doubled over in her effort to comfort herself, and it brought Malcolm back to the very first moment he ever saw her, vulnerable and exposed, unaware of what was to become of her. She had seen too much, felt too much, carried too much, and here he was, denying her what support she requested. He felt that ache tugging at him from under his ribcage, finally realizing it for what it was. "_Nāozhǒng,_" He cursed himself. "This is not what I came here to do at all." He clenched his fists, frustration building up in him, and the anxiety and tension in the room became a creature all its own. He could feel it wind around his legs, rooting him to the spot. It seeped into his head, whispering lies of his uselessness, his hopelessness. He finally couldn't stand it anymore. An abrupt movement jerked the invisible demon off of him, and he steeled his mind for battle. "What is it you want from me, River?" he asked, surprised at his own bluntness. "Please…how can I help?"

What Mal had been so easy to defeat, River was struggling with with her whole being. He could see her try to drown out the creature's piercing cry, holding her hands to her ears in a physical attempt to shut it out. "Why can't he see? She wants him to see, but she can't lead the way." Trembling, she sunk to floor. "Blind leading the blind..."

He flew forward, no longer imprisoned by his own fear, and crouched down close to her, wanting nothing more than to hold her. His mind flashed back to the last time he had attempted to reach out to her, and his skull throbbed at the memory of coming in contact with the floor. His hands were within centimeters of her shoulders, and the gap was practically buzzing with energy. Briefly noting the disparity between his calloused, hardened hands and her milky, nearly translucent skin, he swallowed before continuing. "I want to help." He couldn't quite bring himself to ask permission to touch her, the question reverberating through his head.

It was a brief moment, though it seemed long to Malcolm's self-control, but at last she nodded her head slowly, seeming to understand what he asked. "Please." She said softly.

It was all he needed to hear. It hardly seemed a second before he had his hands around her shoulders and brought her in, wrapping his large arms around and pressing her to him. He exhaled deeply, feeling muscles relax and her warm body slowly folding into him. He closed his eyes, his chest welling up with emotions long unstirred, willing the peace coming upon him to transfer to her, feeling her soft sigh in response. _Wo de tien a_, this felt good.

Moments passed, and everything was perfectly still, save for the steady rhythm of their breathing. River's trembling had stopped, and Mal was hesitant to move and break the moment. Little by little he leaned back against the nearest console, settling himself to stay awhile. By now his eyes were well adjusted to the darkness, and he took in their surroundings. He had always seen this place as home, and the rustic charm of it suited him. But _this_, this fragile young woman in his arms, was a complete contradiction to him and his world. He felt completely unworthy of such trust. The question that was perplexing him couldn't stay silent any longer. "Why me?"

River pulled herself up until she was facing him, and tucked her legs gracefully under. Mal felt the cold creep in from where she had been, and he almost regretted interrupting the quiet until he noticed just how close she was. Her eyes were level with his, serene now, and with the stars reflecting off of them, they were practically dancing. "You see me."

"I see you…" Could it be that simple? He was expecting something more complex, some explanation that justified all that he had done, redeemed his character. Something was always expected of him, a change that was required in order to make him suitable, wanted. That was what his lot in life had taught him. But there was totality in her statement. To her, there was nothing more to be said. He reveled in this new-found freedom, taking it as open permission, and brought his hand up to cradle her jaw, fingers at the nape of her neck and thumb brushing her cheek. She welcomed it, leaning in. Before he knew it, the words were tumbling out of his mouth. "When I look those eyes of yours, 'n you're there, lookin' back at me, I don't believe there's a greater feelin' in the 'verse. But when you're not, 'n there's only death behind 'em," He struggled to control his voice. "Well, it tears me all up to hell."

River broke eye contact, bowing her head, black hair falling forward, but Malcolm tilted her chin up once more. He didn't care to see her try to hide. Not anymore. He gently brushed away the stray locks, revealing her face, her fairness luminescent in the black. Tears had appeared under her closed lids, threatening to spill. He leaned forward and, tenderly, as if she was made of glass, he kissed her on her forehead. His lips lingered. He wished it were more, that he could express himself fully. When they were both healed, and both able to fully be themselves again, he would share that with her. Someday. But for now, he would wait.

After a moment, River blinked, moved back and to her feet in one swift movement, leaving Mal on the floor. Before he could follow her lead, she had flitted down the front stairs, back to where she had been sitting previously. She picked an item up and returned, kneeling in front of him. She fingered it briefly, unwrapping the ribbon, before holding it out to him.

The journal.

Its blue cloth had frayed slightly at the corners, showing that it had been used and served its purpose well. Mal received the proffered gift, not sure what to do. He had wanted to see inside River's head for so long, and now that she was giving him a chance to, he no longer felt the overwhelming craving. River's complete trust had satiated him.

When he didn't open it straightaway, River reached over and opened it herself, now eager for him to read it. "I wrote about you. Your situation is enigmatic, hard to classify." She pointed at one reference before flipping a few more pages. "But the patterns emerged..." He stopped her hands with his own, and she looked up. "We've been approaching our situations wrong, Mal." She was determined to make him see, and her words were startlingly clear. "It is not enough for us to conquer our own sphere. Even God gets lonely."

Malcolm nodded. Her words were strong, and he realized that they both had been drifting until their solitary worlds had collided with each other. He saw her, and she saw him. They were not so different. "I s'pose you're right, in a sense. We both got some learnin' to do about dependin' on others." He put the journal aside, laying it down on the console, not giving it any more thought. He took her hand and she intertwined her small fingers with his. "Let's start here, shall we?"

River smiled.

~ * ~

THE END.

Notes:

This is the end of this series, or, at least, the end of this section. I might eventually add on some one-shots related to this series. I do plan on going back and touching up the second chapter and a couple other spots where formatting errors escaped my eye.

A song that inspired me greatly was "Beautiful Things" by Andain. If I can ever get it figured out, I'll post a fan-video with that song.

Also, I don't know if you noticed, but I referenced several pieces of literature and fiction throughout this story. Some of them are obvious, and some are not. I'd be curious to see if someone caught my last one.

Thank you so much for your reviews!


	9. Epilogue 1: Raindrops and Revelations

Epilogue: Raindrops and Revelations

Rating: G

By Abby ()

Summary: This takes place several months down the road from "River, Author," but it can be taken by itself as a little vignette. Mal and River take a walk.

Notes: Didn't intend to keep going with this, but my Mal muse is bothering me something fierce and I had to get this image out of my head that he gave me. Enjoy!

*~*~*

It started raining on their way back to the ship. The kind of warm rain that hits a world been dry for some time and the smell of it filled Mal's nostrils with dirt and ozone, making him feel alive. He would have been on the ship already with the others, if River hadn't of insisted on taking a leisurely pace, walking with her face upwards, skin meeting the droplets. She had abandoned her boots some time ago and was walking through the wet clay barefoot, savoring the feeling of earth squishing between her toes. With her boots in hand, Malcolm glanced at her with interest, wishing quietly that he was still able to approach the world with wondrous abandon as she was.

She must have read his thought, as she was so easily able to do these days. "Not too late, you know." Her eyes were closed, water running down the sides of her upturned face in rivulets.

"Is that so?"

She smiled slightly. "Just try it."

Still a little incredulous, he leaned his head back slightly.

"Take your shoes off."

His eyes snapped back to her. "Gorramit, why are you always making me take my shoes off?" he asked teasingly. When she replied only with a grin, he snorted in fake annoyance. Setting down her boots, he bent over and loosened his own shoelaces with his freed hands, taking off boots and socks and planting his feet firmly in the mud, his weight sinking him. He had to admit, it was warm and soft, reminding him of when he was a young child, tipping out the contents of the cattles' water trough, mixing up the dirt to make pies, only to get whipped and hosed down later by his ma.

He looked over at River, who was smiling at his images flitting across her consciousness. Keeping her eyes closed, she tilted her head in his direction. "You're getting closer."

He shifted slightly, thinking he should be uncomfortable with their one-sided conversations, realizing he never was. "Almost not fair that you get to visit my musin's whenever you fancy it, and I never get a chance to get in that pretty li'l head of yours."

The translucent skin of her cheeks blushed, and she momentarily allowed herself to glance at him. "Ask and you shall receive." Her tone was serious, daring, yet not forbidding. From the way her eyes were piercing his, he could almost sense that she was simply waiting for him to make that jump. "Another time. Your inner child needs attending." She turned her face back to the sky.

Mal followed suit, craning his neck up, eyelids shut tight, and, feeling a little bit silly, hooking his thumbs into his belt to maintain a modicum of manliness. He felt the rain hit his face in large droplets, their temperature almost indistinguishable from his own, creating the sensation of ghostly whispers across his weather-worn skin. He tried to empty his thoughts and simply try to soak in the experience, learn what was being taught…

He ended up choking. Coughing and spluttering, he attempted to clear out the water that had managed to run up his nose and down his throat. It took a few seconds for him to notice that River was laughing at him, and the lesson was clearly over. "I think I remember reading somethin' about chickens drowning this way," he commented, doubled over, wiping furiously at his face.

She smirked at him when he straightened up, grabbing up a large portion of her hair and wringing it out with her hands, leaving it twisted over her shoulder. "Can't harm me." She said matter-of-factly. "Albatrosses are well adapted to water."

It was Mal's turn to laugh. "Even so," he replied good-naturedly, taking in her soaked state and her wilted dress. "I don't think albatrosses are exempt from catching colds."

He shrugged off his brown coat, oiled and designed to repel moisture, and slipped it around her shoulders, settling it on her frame. He didn't anticipate the satisfaction that he derived from seeing her wearing it, swimming in the folds of cloth, hem almost skimming the muddy ground. He absentmindedly straightened the lapel, freeing her long hair from under it, combing out the soft, black strands in between his fingers. He noticed that she didn't make a move to stop him, so he settled his hand at the nape of her neck, watching her lean into his touch. She was watching his emotions play across his face, and he saw them reflected on her own. Trust, comfort, an inexplicable fondness… It welled up in his chest, and before he knew it he was leaning forward and kissing this delicate creature, ever so carefully, on the lips, tasting the rain intermingling. It was innocent, it was refreshing, it was…wondrous.

She broke away, gazing up at him, the clouds and the hint of something else shimmering in her bright eyes. "Told you it wasn't too late."

All he could do was stare back in amazement. Slowly he came back to his senses, picking up their boots with one hand and reaching out to her with the other. Finding her slender fingers peeking out under the coat sleeve, he grasped her hand tightly, protectively, and led them slowly back in the direction of the ship.


End file.
